


A Cup of Cheer

by andthenwedance



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Almost saccharine amounts of cheesiness, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Holidays, Model/Architect!Mary, Obscene amounts of sappiness, Secret Santa, Writer!Matthew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 01:50:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9050374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andthenwedance/pseuds/andthenwedance
Summary: “I just wanted to give you my number. In case you get lonely next Christmas. Just give me a ring, wherever you are.”--//--Mary Crawley just wants to escape a horrible Christmas party, which somehow leads her to a dark bar with a mysterious stranger and a cup of cheer, which somehow leads to an annual Christmas affair, which leads to an apartment in London, a hotel in Tokyo, a villa in Italy- till somehow it turns into something bigger than anyone expected





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for palindrome310 as part of the MM Secret Santa 2016

**December 25, 2009**

**New York City**

Mary Crawley wasn't one to leave parties early. That was Sybil's domain. Her little sister was known for sneaking off from parties to ask the caterer for cooking tips or help the staff clean up. Sybil was the one constantly protesting that she wasn't one for the glamour of Crawley parties, too excessive. She preferred a simpler life.

But Mary loved being the center of attention. She lived for Christmas parties, ripe with gossip, lush with gorgeous fashion. After all, she was model. She didn't mind flashing cameras, appraising eyes, and large crowds.

Yet tonight was different. There was pain just a little too fresh.

"I'm sorry about your fiancé," A woman had said.

It was the kind of well meaning sentiment she'd heard time after time the last few weeks, each time fanning a weary flame inside her.

Because how did she tell them the truth? That she'd never truly loved Patrick. That she'd been dating him for publicity and power, a scheme planned out by her manager. That she thought he was boring and tiresome. That she'd been hoping that something horrible would take him out because she couldn't stand the idea of marrying him.

Each time some poor soul asked Mary about Patrick, she didn't know how to react. Frozen between grief of his death and the pure relief she felt when she'd heard his yacht sank- it was too much to bear. It was easier to change the subject, to fake a phone call, to duck out of the party- than the to have to lie about Patrick for another minute more.

It only took a moment to grab her coat, her clutch tucked under her elbow, and to make her way out of the sumptuous hotel her family was hosting their Christmas party in. She wouldn't go far, she told her, just around to block to a different bar, a place where she didn't have to be Mary Crawley for just a moment.

As she walked, she played her favorite game- scanning the skyline for her favorite buildings and naming them to herself. She played it everywhere she went- London, Paris, Los Angeles. Cityscapes were companions to her busy life and she catalogued the buildings like friends.

Around the corner, she found what she was looking for, a dark place, still classy enough, where she might not stand out so much in her floor length gown and pearl earrings. She slunk to the bar, hoping to be as discrete as possible. She wanted to be anyone else, well the kind of anyone who didn't have anywhere to be on Christmas.

"What are you drinking?' The bartender asked.

Normally, Mary was the kind of person who'd ask for a dry red wine or an expensive glass of champagne. But in a frantic attempt to seem like someone else, she put on her sultriest voice and declared, "Surprise me."

She sunk onto the barstool, took out her phone, realized that looking at her phone defeated the purpose of her impulse escapism and slipped it back into her clutch. She looked up, grateful for the bartender passing her a bright green drink with red ball shaped ice cubes dancing in it- a Christmas cocktail if ever she saw one.

"Cheers," she began, lifting her glass to the bartender, but he'd already disappeared.

"Cheers," a voice echoed from beside her and she turned in her seat to see the man in stool beside her.

The first thing she noticed was his golden hair, even in the dim light of the bar. The second thing he noticed were his shockingly blue eyes. Then, that he was dressed in a Christmas jumper- deep red with snowflakes. He was clean-shaven, with the hint of baby fat still clinging to his cheeks. Mary wanted to imagine that he had his whole life in front of him, not tainted by bad decisions and false love like hers was.

"What are we toasting to?" He asked.

"Do we need to toast to anything?" She asked, "I'd rather not."

"To Christmas? To the New Year?" He asked. "To your very emerald cup of cheer?"

She cracked a smile for the first time all night, "To my cup of cheer."

"You have a truly remarkable smile," He told her.

"Thank you," She said, taking a sip of the sickly sweet cocktail.

"It's familiar. Have I met you before?" He asked, cocking his head. This happened a lot.

"No, you haven't," She said, "But undoubtably tonight when you get home, or even half way through this conversation, it will dawn on you who I am and you'll have a dreadfully awkward Hugh Grant moment and say something stupid like 'surreal but nice.' I'd rather skip that bit, if you don't mind, just because it's Christmas."

He gave her a wry smile, "Alright, I suppose we won't discuss your mysterious life doing something that makes you far, far more famous than I. Shall we discuss why you are alone at a bar on Christmas?"

"Hmm," Mary mused, "Can I pass on that one too?"

"No, sorry," The man teased, "I bet you can muster something up."

"I'm escaping a dreadful party with nosy people, who ask too many questions," Mary scraped together, trying to keep the details minimal.

The man chuckled, sensing the irony in her response, "And what were they asking you questions about? Just so I can avoid the topic, you know?"

"My ex-fiancé," Mary supplied.

"Oh I'm sorry," He said, voice serious, "Was it a recent break up?"

"I thought you were avoiding the topic," Mary said, her eyebrows hinting at a glare, "But no, not a recent break up. He died."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," The man said, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder.

"Well I didn't love him, so I got quite lucky," Mary explained, "You see why I don't want to talk about it."

"Ah, yes, I understand," He nodded.

"So why are you alone on Christmas?" She asked, "Or are you escaping something ghastly as well?"

"Nothing quite so dramatic," He said, "I work in the City. I moved here a year ago to work in publishing. I'm still working my way up in the company, so I didn't want to take too much time off for the holidays. I'm not quite used to the American work ethic, but it seems like the less amount of time you take off the farther you get."

"I suppose that's true," Mary remarked, "But do you miss your family?"

"I've just my mum," He said, "She lives in Manchester as a nurse. But she usually works Christmas anyway, so she told me to stay here this year. I called her earlier and wished her a happy Christmas."

"That's kind of you," Mary said.

"You've got an accent too," The man acknowledged, "Is the rest of your family back in England as well?"

"No, they've all moved to America now," Mary told him, "Except for my granny, she lives in Yorkshire, but she's come here for the holidays this year. She's probably the only one I can stand of them these days. She's wicked brilliant and never asks the wrong questions."

"She sounds entertaining," He grinned.

"Oh certainly," Mary said, sipping more of her drink. "But do tell me more about you. Why publishing?"

"Well, I actually fancy being a writer," He explained.

"Do you?" Mary said, turning to him, leaning in farther, "What sorts of things do you write about?"

"I imagine it to be literary fiction," He said, "But truly, it's mostly just sappy shit."

"I don't believe you," Mary told him, "I'm sure it's very clever."

"Well, I doubt it'll ever get published," He admitted.

"If you do, I'll be the first to read it," Mary vowed.

"I'll hold you to it," He teased.

There was a moment of silence between them.

"So what'll you do when you finish your cup of cheer?" He asked.

"Go back to the party, unfortunately," She said, "My family is hosting it. They'll notice I'm missing sooner or later."

"That is unfortunate," He said, "You've been quite a nice companion for this evening. Even if you just stayed for a drink."

"And what'll you do?" She asked.

"Probably watch Love Actually with my cat," He laughed.

"Love Actually?" She mused, "Maybe you do write sappy shit."

"Need I remind you that you quoted Notting Hill earlier?" He teased, "I'm think you are just as guilty."

"Alright, uncle," Mary laughed, rolling her eyes and draining the last of her drink.

"Well, I wish you and your cat the greatest evening," She said.

"And I wish you the best of luck with your party," He said, "Sincerely, it sounds like a doozy."

"Oh it will be," Mary replied.

"Do I tell you my name before you go?" He said, a funny smile on his face.

"No, let's stay strangers shall we," She said, "I needed very desperately to feel like someone else, for just a moment. And you gave me that. Thank you."

His smiled remained, "Well, you know what they say about being kind to strangers, lest they angels in disguise."

"Well, thank you angel in disguise," Mary said, getting up. "Good night."

She left some money on the counter for the bartender, far more than she owed him, but it was Christmas after all. She bundled her coat on tighter as she emerged into the winter chill. New York was quieter than normal on Christmas night, almost poetic, with snow cascading down.

"Wait," A voice said, bursting open the door.

She turned to see her perfect stranger looking back at her.

"I just wanted to give you this," He said, passing her a piece of paper with his number, "In case you get lonely next Christmas. Just give me a ring, wherever you are."

She rubbed her thumb across the paper, taking in his neat lettering. She looked up at him and the adorable smile he had on his face. It wasn't every day that Mary Crawley met someone so entirely genuine.

So she stepped forward and brought her lips to his, her arms thrown around his neck, one foot popped in Hollywood-style. His lips were warm against hers, a nice contrast to the cold December air. She could taste the alcohol on his breath, but didn't mind. For this tiny moment, she could be anyone and she loved it.

She pulled back, slipping his number into her clutch, and checking to make sure her hair was still in place.

"Well then," she said, "Till next Christmas, my perfect stranger."

* * *

**December 25, 2010**

**London**

Matthew glanced from his cat to his television and wondered how on Earth he'd landed in the same situation again. A different apartment, a different country, a different cat- but once again alone on Christmas.

He let his thoughts drift back to last Christmas, to a beautiful, mysterious woman with dark hair and pearls.

 _Mary Crawley_.

He'd felt like a fool when he'd seen her face on a Burberry poster on Madison Avenue. The picture of her dressed in a form fitting but classy dress, signature scarf and handbag accenting her. _Mary Crawley for Burberry_ , the sign read.

He had shared a cup of cheer with Mary Crawley. Shit.

But a year had passed since that fateful moment. He'd watched Mary Crawley's name in the tabloids across the last year. Pictures of her drunk at parties, pictures of her with her boyfriend Tony Gillingham kissing on a holiday in Paris, pictures of her sunglass clad after the vicious and public breakup. He'd even seen clips of her on a late night talk show, discussing her life, her career. It had been weird to see her talk, just as she had to him, but in the world of the glamorous and famous. He wondered where she was now, what Christmas was like for her this year. He just hoped she wasn't alone.

Just then, as if his very thoughts had summoned it, his phone rang. The number was unknown to him, but he answered it anyway.

"Hullo."

"Um, hello," A woman's voice asked.

_It couldn't be._

"Who is this?" He replied, voice uncertain.

"Well, do you remember last Christmas? A bar?" She offered.

"A cup of cheer," He said slowly.

 _God, it really_ was _her_.

"You _do_ remember," She cheered.

"I couldn't forget you, Mary," He replied.

She was silent for a moment and he worried that maybe he'd said the wrong thing. Maybe he shouldn't have revealed that he knew who she was. Maybe it was better they remained strangers.

"Ah, so you've put together who I am," She said, finally.

"I did indeed have the Hugh Grant moment just after you left," He said, keeping his voice light as he tried to determine her feelings about the situation.

"And did you mind?" Mary said, there was a tone of fear in her voice that he didn't expect. She was so confident and flawless wherever he saw her. He didn't imagine that she cared what people thought about her reputation. Especially, a nobody like Matthew. "I haven't the best reputation."

"No," He said, "It was surreal, but nice."

"Oh my god, you idiot," Mary said.

There was a pause as the two laughed, the tension broken.

But he still was occupied thinking about the touch of sadness in her voice and the sweeping realization that Mary Crawley was significantly more complex than her face on billboard.

Of course she was, he thought. She had left a Christmas party the year before because she'd been wanting to escape and pretend she was someone else. Even though her life looked glossy and excessive on magazines, there must be parts of her that felt sad or lonely as well.

 _Oh Mary_.

"You know I only said to call if you were lonely," He said, trying to keep the smile in his voice, "Does this mean the famous Mary Crawley is lonely on Christmas?"

"Mmmm," She hummed, "I'd rather not talk about it, but yes."

He thought again of her public break up with Tony, splashed across the papers. It must be tough to live that way.

All of sudden some instinct, the kind of instinct he hadn't felt in a while, kicked in. He wanted to protect her, to take care of her, to take her pain away. He wished he could hug her, cuddle her- anything to comfort this beautiful but distressed goddess.

If only he wasn't in London right now.

"I'm sorry I'm not in New York this year," He said, vocalizing the thought, "Or else I'd offer to keep you company."

"Curiously enough," Mary replied, his heart rate speeding up at the thought of seeing her again, "I'm not in New York either."

"Are you not? Where are you then?" He asked, his voice a little hushed.

She was English. She had family here. Was there a chance, any chance at all, that she was nearby?

"London," She told him, "You?"

 _Apparently there was a chance_.

His heart soared.

"I'm in London as well," He said slowly.

"What are the odds?" She replied.

Honestly, what were the odds? He momentarily felt like Pip from Great Expectations, as if Mary was somehow endowed in his life as a gift. How could be so lucky? He couldn't be given the extraordinary gift of Mary Crawley in his life and not do something about it.

"I think that if fate has brought us together again, we might just act on it," He said.

His heart thumped in his ear as he waited for her response.

"I think so too," She told him.

He let out of breath of relief. He was actually going to see her. Mary. His Christmas stranger.

"Maybe just for a drink. A cup of cheer for old times sake. Though I should warn you, I'm not much to behold. I'm in my pajamas and they aren't even sexy pajamas," She added with a laugh.

"Mary Crawley in her pajamas," He said, his voice soft, reverent, "Sounds like a treat if I've ever hear of one."

It did. He tried to imagine it- her slim, elegant figure from catalogues and billboards, wrapped in simple, cozy pajamas.

"Then it's a date," She said, her voice casual and calm, "Shall I send you my address?"

"Sure," He said, "I'll see you soon."

"Yes, soon," She said.

He lifted his cat from his lap and got up from the spot on the couch he was seated. He headed to his bedroom to change. He knew Mary was in her pajamas, but he thought it might be weird to show up at her house in sweats anyway. If anything, he should look okay for the taxi ride there.

He pulled out a striped button up top and a nice pair of trousers. Deeming them nice enough, but not too extravagant for Mary Crawley, he pulled them on. He dabbed on cologne and ran a comb through his hair. He gave a quick grin to his reflection, pulled on his wool winter coat, pocketed his phone and wallet, and was out the door.

He watched as the city swirled outside his window. Mary lived in a much more posh part of London than he did. He supposed that it shouldn't come as a surprise; she was a model from a prominent wealthy family. What did he expect?

The radio in the taxi was playing Holly Jolly Christmas and the words floating, "I don't know if they'll be snow, but have a cup of cheer," made him smile. It was if fate was giving one final blessing. He was meant to be with Mary tonight.

The taxi pulled up at the apartment building and he got out, tossing a "Happy Christmas" to the driver.

He glanced at his phone where he found Mary's apartment number and rang for it.

"Come on up," She replied through the intercom, her voice low and soft.

And then he was in the elevator, his heart still racing, floating up toward where Mary was waiting for him. As the elevator opened to her hall, he took a few deep calming breaths so he wouldn't look quite so nervous. This had all been a lot easier when he hadn't known who she was.

He rapped once on her door before she opened it.

There she was. Mary Crawley in comfortable looking, but slightly too large red and green flannel pajamas. It hung off her thin frame, revealing the sharp lines of her collarbones. Her hair was swept up in a messy bun, tendrils dangling around her face. Matthew had a sudden urge to reach out and wrap one around his finger, to see if it would hold a curl- but he restrained it.

The truth was, Mary Crawley, even in her non-sexy pajamas was a vision.

It was the kind of vision that made his mind instant race again. Why was he here? Why would someone like her call him on Christmas? Why would she kiss him last Christmas? How could he have thought this was a good idea-

"Hi," She said, offering him a small smile, "Come in."

He stepped inside her apartment. The first thing he noticed was that it smelled wonderful. There were several candles lit around the room, filling the space with the scents of warm vanilla and cinnamon. An acoustic Christmas playlist was wafting through the living area. There was something comfortable about the space. It was a very nice apartment, but not ostentatious or overly-stylized as he imagined it would be. There was a wall covered in a collage of quotes, fashion, and pictures of cityscapes. There was a couch drapped in what looked like a handknit blanket. In another corner, a large wooden structure hung from the ceiling, a cross between a swing and a nest to read in.

"I like your apartment," He said.

"Thanks," She replied, taking his coat from him.

"I thought you lived in New York," He said dumbly.

She laughed, putting the coat on a knobby hanger near the door.

"I have a few apartments," Mary confessed, "Just in the fashion capitals- New York, Paris, London, Los Angeles." She looked dreamily across the space, "But I think this one is my favorite. Wait till you see the bedroom."

Matthew paused, confused on what to process first- the fact that Mary had four apartments or that she was planning on showing him her bedroom.

She noticed that he was flustered and rolled her eyes, tugging him into her kitchen.

"I thought you lived in New York, as well," Mary said, "Isn't that why I ran into you last Christmas? You weren't able to make it back to your mum in- where was it? Manchester?"

"Right, my mum is in Manchester," He explained, glancing around her kitchen. It was done in a light yellow and blue, almost country-like.

"Is she working again?" Mary asked, opening the fridge, "Isn't she a nurse or something?"

"A nurse indeed," Matthew replied, "But she's not working tonight. It's actually a funny story."

"Well I'm going to make hot chocolate and Bailey's, so tell me as I work," Mary directed, as Matthew settled down in a kitchen chair.

"So just after I met you, last winter," He explained, "My mum took ill. It was rather unfortunate timing, because I'd obviously given up Christmas in search of a promotion and I didn't want to take more time off. But well, obviously I couldn't just let her suffer on her own. Anyway, by a stroke of luck, I got transferred to London with promotion. I miss New York, but it's nice to be near family."

The milk began to steam, so Mary poured it into mugs. He watched as she whisked in chocolate chips to the mixture. She was elegant, even as she flitted around her kitchen.

"It gets a bit madder," He said, "Because while she was ill, she fell in love with a man at the hospital. He thought he was dying of some sort of terminal anemia and my mother, bless her, though sick herself was ready to nurse him through his final moments. Turns out he had the wrong diagnosis and he was fine. And my mother's health improved- so they decided to elope and now they are on some tropical island having a honeymoon and I'm here in alone on Christmas."

Mary exploded into giggles.

"Is it true?"

"Of course it's true!" Matthew protested.

"God, that's truly hilarious," Mary said, "That's a rather good excuse for alone, I think."

Matthew laughed along with her.

"And a good excuse for extra Bailey's," Mary added, as she poured a copious amount into his mug.

She put the mug down in front of him, before settling with her own across from him.

"So, what's your excuse for being alone on Christmas?" He probed.

"Well, I suppose leaving out the part where I got my heartbroken," Mary began, "Because I wouldn't speak of that. I suppose I'm alone because I was in America yesterday for some random celebrities party in LA. Then tomorrow I'm off to Granny's in Yorkshire."

"I see," Matthew said.

"It's just a lonely interlude," Mary explained, "Of course, I'm leaving out the part where I was supposed to be with Tony and his family celebrating today."

"I'm sorry, Mary." Matthew told her.

"No, it's fine," She said, "I'm spending Christmas with my lovely stranger, my fellow lonely kindered soul. I couldn't be happier."

Matthew felt a wave of happiness wash over him. He meant something, something at all, to Mary Crawley. He was _her_ stranger.

Maybe all the Bailey's was just making him sappy.

"So how is your novel coming?" She asked, changing the subject.

"It's…." He sighed, "It's not fantastic. It's quite hard to find time to work and write. I come home from work drained from reading and writing, it's hard to make time to write what I actually want to say."

"That does sound exhausting," Mary said, "That's why at least for tonight, you can relax."

"That sound nice," Matthew said, dazed, taking another sip of hot chocolate.

"What do say we drink our hot chocolate in my bedroom. It'll be cozier," Mary said, slowly, something sensual seeping into her voice.

He nodded, taking his mug with him, and following Mary.

She was right- her room was gorgeous. A wall of windows formed a curved wall. There was a huge bed in center, with at patchy quilt, looking out towards the windows. There were stacks of books, lining the walls. It had the same vintage-y, kitch look that rest of the house had.

He looked at her rows of books, lots were about fashion- biographies of models and designers. But there was surprisingly more about architecture.

"I take it you're interested in architecture," Matthew said, as Mary sat on her bed, sipping her cocoa.

"In another life, I'm an architect," She explained, before pausing to explain, "I studied architecture for a few years in uni. I stopped in my last year, because the modeling thing took off and was taking all my time. But there's a bit of me that's always thinking about it. About what my life would be like if I followed that part of myself. So I read about it when I can and doodle on napkins ideas for buildings that will never exist."

"Why did you quit then?" He asked. "Why not finish it out?"

She shrugged, draining her mug, "I just figured I could go back to it if my looks faded and modeling sounded exotic- so why not give it go while I could?"

"Do you think you'll go back to it then?" He asked.

"Are you asking if you think my looks will fade?" She replied, "Yes, probably. Or I'll get bored first. We'll see."

She reached out a hand to pull him over. He took a final sip from his mug and placed it beside where Mary's rested on her nightstand. He stood before her, their heights strange with her sitting on the bed and him standing. He wondered what was going to happen now.

Mary reached her other hand over to turn off the lights. She had Christmas lights strung in her room and now they shimmered in the darkened room like stars.

"Look, it's snowing outside," Mary whispered, nodding towards her wall of windows.

He took a moment and looked out as flurries fluttered across the London sky. He thought how the snow against the dark of the city looked much like the lights in the room. Just little flecks of light against harsh darkness.

As Mary reached to pull his face in for a kiss, he wondered if that's what they were for each other. If they were each other's splashes of darkness, the little bits of happiness in contrast with the dreary ordinariness of everyday life.

Later, as Mary's flannel pajamas lay in a heap on the ground, the mugs of hot chocolate abandoned on the bedside table, and Matthew faded in and out of sleep, he looked at the lights and snow again through half opened eyes. He thought once more about how lucky he was to have Mary. He didn't know if it was fate, or Christmas magic, that brought them together. But he hoped that they'd be like comets, or maybe just like satellites, bright lights brought into each other's lives each Christmas.

* * *

**December 25, 2011**

**Tokyo**

And so it seemed to happen again.

Mary couldn't help it. She liked her glorious stranger.

So when she found out that she would be doing a shoot in Tokyo the day after Christmas, her only thoughts were for her stranger.

On December 20th, she finally found the courage to send him a text.

"I'm not sure what you're doing this xmas, but if you've no plans again this year- buy a flight to Tokyo- I'll pay for it and a cup of cheer (or sake) too."

He texted back a day later (after a day of hopelessly waiting) with a response:

"I arrive Christmas Eve. See you in Tokyo."

Yet, she didn't hear anything from him the day before Christmas and she wondered if he'd made it there. Maybe he had chickened out. After all, it was an ordeal to go to another country, to another continent, with someone who didn't even know your name.

Christmas morning, as she sipped tea by the window, reading a book on Japanese architecture (a Christmas present to herself), she felt a loneliness settle in her bones. She wanted her stranger to be here. She didn't want to be so alone on Christmas.

It was early evening when she heard from him.

"Sorry, flight got in late and I slept for hours. But it's Christmas and I'm lonely- where are you?"

They met in the lobby of her hotel a few hours later. She'd read online that Christmas night was a big date night in Japan and so she'd made reservations at a nice place, just in case her stranger would arrive.

They hailed a cab and soon were whirling through an unfamiliar city, where she didn't speak the language and hardly knew anyone. Mary liked the perfect anonymity she had here. Mary was learning that she liked feeling like someone else. What did that say about her life? That was something examine later.

She listened as he chatted through dinner, a strange meal of foods she hardly recognized (but that added to the whole effect). He talked about how his mother was working on Christmas, nursing, but then she was off to America for a one-year anniversary holiday with her new beau.

"I feel weirdly jealous," He said, "I don't know if that makes sense, obviously not in an Oedipal way. It's always been me and mum, just the two of us. And I'm so happy that she's finally found love again- but there is a bit of me that wants that for myself as well. Will I be her age before I finally find someone who will love me?"

"That's terribly depressing," Mary said, "You're young. You're going to find someone for you. Just think, when you finally publish that novel, you'll have women flocking you!"

"That's probably never going to happen," Her stranger said, "All I've got is a shitty first draft of a story I don't care about anymore."

"Then write something new," She suggested.

"I think the inspiration might be gone," He complained.

"Look, I don't know much about you, but I know enough to tell you that you've got your whole life ahead of you to become a writer and fall in love," She said firmly. She pushed a glass of sake at him, "Here drink up. Let's go on an adventure."

She grabbed his hand and pulled him into another cab. She gave them the address of a place she found online. The arrived a bit later in a flurry of Christmas lights, winding around trees like a little fairy world.

"Mary, this is gorgeous," He hushed.

"Good, apparently Japan is known for its Christmas illuminations," She said, reaching up to kiss his cheek, "I think it's lived up to its expectations."

They walked hand in hand through the dazzling park. She'd pull him behind groves of trees to kiss him. They were both giggly, most from too much alcohol, but everything felt light and dizzy. She was happy. And despite how bleak he thought his life was, for the moments they ran through the twinkling trees, she knew he was happy too.

"Shall we go home?" She suggested, when his lips had drifted to her neck.

He hummed into her hair, where he had moved to place another kiss.

So they came together, just like the year before, two perfect strangers, twinkling lights, cups of cheer, and the glorious feeling of being anyone they wanted to be.

She liked this tradition.

They stood on the balcony after, wrapped in fluffy robes, as they watched the city lights sparkle.

"I don't want to come back down," He admitted to her, "It's hard to be here like this, with you, and then just to go back to my life afterwards like nothing happened."

"Don't you like having me as a secret? Don't you like escaping for just one day a year?" Mary asked, "If this arrangement hurts you, we don't have to do it."

"Mary, I wouldn't change our Christmases for anything in the world," He admitted.

"Good," She said, "I feel the same way."

"It's my bright light, through all the mundane moments," He said.

"That's what Christmas should be right?" Mary said, lightly.

He was silent for a moment and she wondered what he was thinking. She didn't want him to get attached. He couldn't be attached to someone like her. She belonged to the media. She was a doll for designers to dress up. She was a story to tell in tabloids. She was told by her manager who to date, who to socialize with, what clothes to buy. He couldn't get attached because she didn't have the agency to reciprocate. He would always be her stranger. He couldn't ever be more than that.

"You're right," He said, "Thank you for being my bright Christmas light."

* * *

**December 25, 2012**

**Milan**

He wasn't even surprised when the text arrived the following year. It was a week before Christmas and it just read:

"Milan Duomo at 6pm, Christmas Night. If you fancy a cup of cheer."

The truth was, he wasn't particularly lonely this Christmas. His mum and stepfather were planning on spending Christmas in England. He'd finally made a ragtag group of friends in London. They weren't ideal friends, but they kept him company. And his writing was getting better. He'd finally given in to a story that had been waiting in his heart to be told for so long and it felt good putting it on paper. He felt more at peace than he had the year before.

Yet, he still wasn't in love. He still dreamt of Mary, yearned for their yearly meeting. Even when he saw her on magazine covers with another man, an exotic looking pretty boy named Kamal Pamuk, her rumored boyfriend. Even when he saw pictures of her on the internet passed out drunk at parties. She was so normal, charming, and sweet when he was with her, yet so different to public. He couldn't help but be obnoxiously attracted to her. So much so that he told his mum that he had plans in London for the holiday and booked a ticket for Milan.

He spotted her standing under the Christmas tree in front of the church. Her hair was up in a chignon, a black wool coat and red plaid scarf wrapped around her, and sunglasses balanced on her nose. He could tell she was trying to disguise herself, hide from the paparazzi and lurking fans, but she was still distinctly Mary. He would recognize her anywhere.

"Mary," He said softly in her ear, wrapping his arm around her at he approached her.

"Darling," She said, putting a kiss on his cheek. "I'd love to stay here and chat, but unfortunately I'm a bit too well known in Milan to safely walk around here with you. Let's get out of town."

So they hailed a cab and made their way into the inky expanse of Italian countryside. Mary's eyes were trained out the windows and Matthew tried to take her in. There were bags under her eyes that he'd never seen before, a new slump to her shoulders.

They eventually pulled up in front of what Matthew could only think to describe as a villa. Mary paid the driver and got out wordlessly. Matthew followed her, his eyes wide at the splendor the building. It was large and lofty, two floors and tall windows. The kind of place on imagined out of a book from Italy.

"Mary this is lovely," He remarked, scanning the shadowy room.

Mary didn't make any movement to turn on the lights. She took off her coat and scarf, tossing them on a sofa nearby the door.

"I figured that if I was going to spend Christmas alone in Italy, I might as well do it in style," She explained, "I even paid extra for them to put a tree up for me."

He glanced at the huge fir, dressed in tinsel.

"Mmm, what do you say about a cup of cheer?" He said, "Have you any Italian wine?"

"Screw the cup of cheer," She said, taking a step towards him, her hand on the zipper of her dress, pulling it slowly down.

Matthew reached for her, wanting to be the one doing the unzipping himself. He wanted her his arms immediately. She complied, stepping into his embrace. He let his hands slide over her curves.

"And what of your boyfriend?" He asked, unable to ignore the question that had been weighing on him since he arrived, since he booked his ticket to Milan.

He didn't know if he minded if she had a boyfriend, which wasn't something he was proud to admit. But he didn't want to ruin things for her if she had feelings for the man.

"Oh, definitely screw him," She said, her voice loaded with disgust.

So he proceeded unzipping her dress, his mouth on her neck, ready to have her in the middle of the dark living room. The dress tumbled to the ground and he sighed at the shadowy sight of Mary in just her black bra and dark tights. He dropped to his knees, taking the top of her tights with his teeth and slowly dragging them off her.

When he rose to reach her face again, his hands on her hips, ready to pull her in for a searing kiss, Mary pushed him down. He gave her a smug grin, ready to please her as she desired, but as he glanced up at her he noticed something he hadn't before.

Bruises on her ribs, her collarbones.

"Mary," He gasped, standing up.

That's when he noticed she was trembling.

All of a sudden he made the sweeping realization of everything that had happened- the reason she couldn't be seen with him in town, the reason she hadn't turned on the lights, the reason she'd pushed him down, the "definitely screw him."

"He's hurting you," Matthew put together, dropping his hands "Your boyfriend, or whatever he is- he's hurting you."

She was silent for a moment. He could tell there were words stuck in her throat.

"Is it, hmm, is it alright to touch you or hug you?" Matthew asked, tentatively.

Mary answered him by leaning in limply for a hug. He wrapped his arms around her, conscience that she was still dressed in just her underwear.

He could feel tears soak through his shirt.

It broke his heart.

"It was just once," She said finally, when time had passed. "It's not like it's a regular thing or anything. We had a fight and it got out of hand."

"Mary, fights that get out of hand result in someone taking a walk to cool off, or not talking for a few days- not this. Certainly not this," He murmured, tracing a finger up her spine, "But I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that."

Later, they made their way to the couch. The lights were turned on. She pulled on an old t-shirt and billowy, soft pants from her suitcase. He made her a cup of tea, a meager attempt at a cup of cheer. They found a few blankets and made a nest of them on the living room floor and turned the lights off once more. The Christmas tree erected in the corner gave off the only light, tinsel giving a dim glitter.

They didn't have sex that night. They just held each other in silence, in understanding.

Eventually, Mary drifted off to sleep wrapped loosely in his arms, her gentle snores a welcome cacophony. She seemed so small now, delicate. He felt so powerless. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to make everything okay. But he couldn't. They weren't in the same world. They were just each others stars in the night sky. They were just snowflakes, city lights. They were just flecks.

They were just strangers.

As he watched the first rays of light peak over the vista, illuminating the Italian countryside- Matthew wondered if it was possible to love a stranger.

He woke her as the sunrise grew to it's loveliest. Simple touches on her shoulders and then her wrists, kisses in her hair and on her neck to lull her awake. They made love in the morning right there on the living room floor as the sun rose.

They laid there for a while after in silence, till Matthew moved to make some coffee. As he strode to the kitchen, he noticed a desk covered in her sketches- the duomo, villas, and a few ones that he figured must be her own.

"I'm glad I got a villa in the middle of no where," Mary remarked, as Matthew returned, naked, with two steaming mugs. "Or else that might be awkward."

"Where are we exactly?" Matthew asked, looking out at the unfamiliar but beautiful landscape.

"Between Milan and Como," She explained, "I didn't want to stay in either. Too close to prying eyes. You've learned by now that I crave anonymity."

"I do know that about you," Matthew said, taking a sip of coffee. The warm drink brought him back down to earth. Back down to Mary and her problem at hand.

"You've got to end things with Pamuk," He said, after a pause, diving into it.

"He's not even my boyfriend. Not really. My manager basically threw me at him, told me he'd help both our images. But since we've been 'dating,' he's slept with two other girls and a boy- so I know he has no loyalty to me."

"Then it will make it all the easier to get rid of him. You're manager will understand," Matthew said, "Make sure you bring someone with you. A friend or police or something. I don't want him to get angry and try it again."

Mary shrugged, running her hand through her hair, "So what then? I end things with him and I'll get thrown at someone else. I'm just a pawn. Just like a doll that people dress up and throw at stuff," she said. There was anger in her voice, resentment, but also a meekness that scared him more than anything.

"So do what you want to do," Matthew said, "Honestly. Life is too short to not chase after the things you want to do. Quit modeling. Become an architect. Dump your asshole boyfriend. Date me instead."

Her face turned quickly to him.

"No, you can't really be doing this are you?" She muttered, "You can't be making this about you. About us. Matthew, you and I, we're just a Christmas thing. We're just a cup of cheer. We're just each other's secrets. We aren't anything more. We can't be. I told you that. You said you were okay with that."

"What if I'm not?" He dared to say, "What if I want more?"

"No," She said firmly.

"It doesn't make sense. The attraction is there. I care about you, clearly more than most people in your life seem to," He said, anger tingeing his tone.

Then he got softer.

"Mary, I love you."

"You don't," She scoffed, "You don't even know me. I don't know you. I don't even know your name."

"I've known you for four years. I've kissed you in four different countries," He protested, "I know you're secrets."

"You know secret parts of me," She said, "I'll grant you that. But you don't know the rest of me, the rest of my life. You don't know the me you'll see at parties, on runways. You don't fit into that life."

"Then quit that life," He protested.

"You're asking me to give up my life?" She gaped. "What if I like it? I do. I like it. I like getting dressed up. I like the parties. I'm not just going to give it up for some stranger I met in a bar."

"A stranger you met in a bar?" He repeated, standing to pull on some trousers and a shirt. So he could leave, the sooner, the better.

She shrugged, running her hands through her hair again.

"Right, well, I see where we stand," He said, "Happy Fucking Christmas."

* * *

**December 25, 2013**

**Turk and Caicos**

Mary breathed a sigh of relief as she opened the door to her holiday home. She took in the beachy furnishings, the light sea breeze, and the sound of ocean waves drifting through the space. Pure bliss and relaxation- just what she needed. It had been quite the year indeed and all she wanted to spend her Christmas holiday alone. After all, she'd have lots of work to do when the next semester started.

And maybe, even now that she was out of the spotlight, she still desired anonymity.

Her driver brought her suitcases inside, leaving them in a neat stack by the door.

"Anything else you'll be needing?" He asked.

"No, I'm fine," She replied, passing him some money, "Thank you. Happy Christmas."

As soon as he disappeared in his car, she was immediately rummaging through her bag, clothes flung across the room as she dug from her bathing costume. She found her black bikini at the bottom, something that hadn't gotten much used in the last few months.

She thought about how it was nearly swimsuit season and how normally she'd be worried about her figure or if she was too tan or if her stranger was going to leave a trail of hickies across her neck.

_Oh, right._

The thought of her stranger and the fact that this was their first Christmas apart in five years struck her. She had warred with it for weeks. She wanted to see him. She wanted to tell him that as much as she had hated his guts, he had been the push she needed to completely redo her life. She'd typed the text out several times "Christmas in the Caribbean? Sorry about last year XO Mary." But it wasn't right. She needed to move on with her life.

Still, the thought of Christmas with a cup of cheer and her stranger always sent a ghost of sadness floating over her. While her life had changed for the better since that morning in Milan, she knew she lost something, someone, in their dispute.

She hoped he was happy, her stranger, wherever he was. She hoped he'd finally written a book. She hoped that he was spending Christmas with his mum and stepdad, or his friends in London or New York or wherever he was now, or maybe even a lover. She just hoped that he wasn't alone.

Happy to have the whole rental to herself, she stripped down right there in the entrance, switching into her swimwear. She grabbed for a towel and a textbook for her upcoming semester. On second thought, she chucked it back into her bag, instead extracting a novel she'd found in the airport. She'd been studying for weeks and when she saw something Christmasy and sappy looking with a "New and Recommended" sticker on it- she'd impulse bought the thing. After all, she could treat herself to a little beach reading before she buckled down.

For a moment, she thought of a man who spent Christmas alone watching Love Actually with his cat. She wondered if reading a romance novel on the beach alone was technically the same thing.

She settled in the lounge chair, indulging in the feeling of the sun on her. New York winters, short days, and studying for exams had kept her pale and cold. She was struck by just how sunny it was here. Light seemed to permeate everything.

This was how she wanted Christmas this year. Free of any snow and darkness.

She let her eyes flutter shut, her book dropping into the sand as she took deep inhales of sea air.

It had been a year indeed.

Just a few days after her stranger had disappeared from her in Milan, she found the courage to end things with Pamuk. Bringing along a security guard and her manager, she broke off their not-relationship and secured a restraining order.

The end of her career had come in May. Still feeling the pressure of a life in modeling she no longer wanted, and the restlessness that came from the lack of agency- she erupted in a massive, massive tantrum. It was the kind of fit that insured you wouldn't work in the industry again. And that was just the way Mary wanted it.

It took some bribing and string pulling, but she'd managed to re-enroll in Columbia to finish her final year of architecture school. So from September onward, she'd made a strange and delicate transition from Mary Crawley- Model to the life of a blissfully frazzled student. She couldn't be happier.

But it made her tired and she felt sleep tug her towards a nap.

She woke a few hours later, a chill in the air from the setting sun.

It was dusk, the waning light casting beautiful colors across the sky.

She fumbled for her book and phone, hoping that one of them would lull her awake.

She paged open the book, smiling at the author's name. He curiously had the same surname as her. Perhaps they knew each other in another life.

_Adam Crawford had never felt so alone on Christmas._

_And perhaps never so embarrassed to admit he was spending the holiday watching Love Actually with his cat._

"What?" Mary whispered.

_Moving to America to work for a publisher, to find the sort of connections needed to transition from editor to author, had seemed romantic when he'd bought his flight to New York. But now, Adam just felt bone deep loneliness. Friendless, his family far away, his love life non-existent- all he wanted was a momentary brush with human companionship. Which he wasn't going to find staying home._

_Pulling on a grey jumper and jeans, Adam bid goodbye to his cat and set out into the snowy New York night._

_He pulled up a seat in a bar, bizarrely open on Christmas night, something dark and mysterious about it. Or maybe it was the woman he sat next to- floor length ball gown, pearl earrings, glamorous dark tresses. She was the kind of woman who could be a model, or an actress, or maybe a spy. She didn't have to a say a word and he was already intrigued by her._

_He was even more surprised, when she asked in a husky voice for the bartender to surprise her. Such confidence, such sex appeal. It was like Adam's life had been touched by something otherworldly, a graceful creature to rescue him from his lonely existence._

" _Cheers," Her voice said, raising her colorful beverage to the unnoticing bartender._

_But someone as lovely as her deserved someone to pay attention to her. Someone as lovely as her didn't deserve to be alone on Christmas._

" _Cheers," He said, turning to her. "What are we toasting to?"_

" _Do we need to toast to anything?" She asked, "I'd rather not."_

" _To Christmas? To the New Year?" He asked. "To your very emerald cup of cheer?"_

_She cracked a smile for the first time all night, "To my cup of cheer."_

"What the fuck?" Mary hissed, leaping up from her chair.

She glanced at the cover: _Bright Christmas Lights_ by Matthew Crawley.

Matthew Fucking Crawley.

She flipped to the back of the book, finding his photograph on the dust jacket.

There he was, her stranger. The golden hair, the blue eyes. Still stupidly dreamy.

_Matthew Crawley is an English author from Manchester. He received a BA in English from Cambridge, before working as an editor in both New York and London. He currently lives in London with his cat and fiancé. This is his first novel._

What? He had a fiancé? He had published a fucking book about Mary and he was engaged to someone else? What the hell? What the actual fuck?

She took the book and flung it into the ocean.

(Probably impulsive and wasteful, she'd think later.)

She turned to her phone, which was buzzing with the arrival of texts.

"Stranger: Happy Christmas Mary. Wherever you are."

She let out a shriek and chucked her phone into the ocean as well.

_Happy Fucking Christmas Matthew Crawley._

He was right about one thing, she thought as she stomped into the house.

He did write the some sappy shit.

* * *

**December 25, 2014**

**Washington DC**

Matthew looked around the room, still baffled that he was here and that this was actually happening.

"30 Under 30 Christmas Award Gala" was lit up across the wall.

The holiday gala was packed with people. It was black ties and formal gowns. It gave him a flicker of a memory of woman in a formal gown in a bar on Christmas. Mary. Where was she? What was she up to now? He hadn't heart from her in two years now. Her name had dropped from the tabloids a few months after their fight, as she retired from modeling and disappeared off the face of the earth. He still thought of her often, dreamt of her more than often. She had been the muse for his novel. She had been the closest thing his life had ever come to being something out of a book. He would always be curious about her. He would always wonder how she was: if she was an architect, if she'd found a boyfriend who didn't disappoint her, if she felt like she had more control over her life.

But Mary was the past, she had to be- he had Lavinia now. His beautiful, flaming-haired fiancé was dressed in a long purple gown. Even the make up that'd been done by a hired team couldn't hide the freckles on her cheeks and brightness of smile.

"You know how pleased I am for you, darling," She was saying, as she sipped her champagne, "Who could ever imagine that this is how we'd be spending our Christmas?"

"We are extraordinarily proud of you," His mum said, giving him a glowing smile. His stepfather beamed alongside her.

It was remarkable how good his life was at this moment. He had published a bestselling book. He was in the middle of a deal for his second manuscript. He had a wonderful girlfriend. He had good friends. He had come a long way from his miserable confessions to Mary in a restaurant in Tokyo so many years back. He'd made a life for himself, a good life.

He and his cohort made their way to their table. Each guest had been allowed to invite a table full of guests. He'd had Lavinia, his mum, his stepfather, his literary agent, and a bevy of his friends from London. They settled down the exquisite several course meal.

As dessert concluded, a speaker rose to the stage to announce each of the award recipients and dole out the awards. They filtered onto the stage, other bright young things full of accolades. There was a composer of a popular new musical. There was an engineer of bridge that had made life easier for whole cities in Central America. There was a brilliant scientist making strides in cancer research. Matthew wondered how he was so lucky to have been invited to the same event as such inspiring people. All he had done was write a book.

"Next up," The announcer said, "We have architect, Mary Josephine Crawley."

Matthew's eyes flicked up on stage where Mary stood. For a moment he didn't recognize her. She had short hair now, curling into a smooth coif just at her chin. She was dressed in a long black gown that showed off the side of her breasts in a way that made Matthew's toes curl. She had pearls in her ears, dark lashes, red lips.

"Ms. Crawley made waves this year as she started her own non-profit architecture firm. Her organization, funded through donations and her own philanthropy, intends to work to design modern shelters for woman. Ms. Crawley designed the first building herself and construction is already underway for the building in New York. The space will shelter women who need to get back on their feet after abuse, economic hardship, addiction, and incarceration. Ground has already been broke for the building, which will be completed by 2016. Ms Crawley intends to create similar shelters in London, Los Angeles, and DC. We look forward to seeing the way Ms. Crawley combines her architectural prowess with her desire to help women in need."

Mary beamed as she accepted the award, giving a thank you to the announcer and making her way off the stage.

He watched her dumbly, unsure what to do next.

"Babe," Lavinia was saying softly, "They're calling your name. Go collect your award."

"Mr. Crawley is author of the bestselling novel _Bright Christmas Light_ which is the most successful Christmas novel ever written since Dickens. Crawley's novel…"

Matthew moved robotically to the stage, still dazed at seeing Mary. He watched where she sat with her sister, her friends, and what looked like a man who was holding her hand.

His attention was momentarily diverted as the announcer pressed the award in his hand. When he looked up, Mary had disappeared.

Refusing to return to his table, refusing to lose her again, he exited the ballroom discretely listening in the hallway to hear where her footsteps lead. Her heels were sending echoing clicks in one direction and he followed their sound.

He traced the noise till it ended at a door. He pushed through the revolving contraption to find her standing there outside the door, taking deep gulps of air.

"Mary," He said, startled that she really before him.

She looked up at him, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights.

"Don't talk to me," She huffed, "Don't come near me. I swear to God Matthew Fucking Crawley. You don't get to talk to me."

"Mary, darling," He said softly, reaching out a hand to comfort her.

She slapped his hand from where it went to caress her, the sting startling him.

She was mad. Mary Crawley, his muse, his bright Christmas light, was here in front of him. And she was pissed.

"I'm not talking to you," She said again, "Now leave me alone before I call security."

He gapped at her for a moment, unsure what to do next.

"Matthew," Lavinia called, coming through the door behind him.

"Mary," Said the voice of man, clearly at Lavinia's heels, the same one who'd been holding her hand earlier.

"Are you alright babe?" Lavinia asked, "I saw you run out where after the award and I hoped you weren't ill."

"I'm fine," Matthew said, disoriented still, "I was just startled to see my old friend Mary just now."

"We're not friends," Mary grumbled, running a hand through her hair.

"You're the model, Mary Crawley?" Lavinia said.

"Former model," Mary said, straightening. "Now architect."

"And you know each other how?" The man piped up, looking between Mary and Matthew.

"We don't really know each other," Mary said.

"Mary, you know that's a lie," Matthew said.

"Look, I'm not sure what's going on here," Lavinia said, "But I think that you two clearly have something to work out."

"We don't," Mary protested, "I can't make it more obvious that I have nothing to say to this man."

"Right," Lavinia said awkwardly, "We'll I'm going to go grab a drink with this fellow here. What's your name?"

"Evelyn, miss," Replied Mary's man.

"Right, Evelyn and I are going to have a drink," She said, "I suggest you do the same."

Lavinia grabbed the hand of Mary's beau and dragged him back into the hotel. It was just the two of them now and the cold wintery air around them.

Neither of them said anything for a while, their breaths making small wintery clouds. Little ghosts floating in the air. They had a lot of ghosts between them.

"We should take a walk, I guess," Mary said.

Matthew nodded, following her lead.

"You wrote a book about me," Mary said, putting the fact out there.

"I did," He admitted.

"And you didn't think to contact me?" She asked. "You didn't think to ask if I was okay with that?"

Matthew felt his throat tighten, guilt building in his stomach.

"I didn't know at the time that the book would ever become this," He told her, honestly.

"But you had to have thought it had the potential," She said, "Every writer does. No one sits down to write a novel intending to keep it on their laptop forever. Eventually you'll share it with your mum or friends or you'll post it online or send it off to agent. Eventually someone will read what you write. There is always, always that potential."

She had a point.

"I suppose," He relented.

"And you never thought to say, I don't know, text me, call me, send me a fucking tweet. You know a friendly, 'Just so you know, you're my muse and I'm basing a book off our weird Christmas love making,'" She shot, "You've had my number. You could have contacted me at any time."

"I didn't think it mattered," Matthew admitted.

"You didn't think it mattered?" She repeated.

There was silence as Matthew tried to find the words to explain himself, but everything he reached for felt stupid.

"This is what I hated about modeling," Mary told him, "I hated that I had no control. That people could take control of every part of me- my body, my image- and make it into anything they wanted it to be. I never felt like myself. I never felt like I had control. That's how I ended up so close to being in a really bad situation, because I convinced myself I didn't have control."

Matthew nodded, putting together pieces he'd guessed at about her before, but never heard her articulate.

"When I started reading your book, it was like someone had taken even just the idea of me and manipulated it into what they wanted it to be. You see why I'd be upset?" Mary explained.

"I do," He said, "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Mary. I'd do anything to make it up for you."

"Hmm," She said, "We'll see."

"Did you finish reading it?" He asked.

"No," She said, "I threw it in the ocean."

Matthew burst out laughing.

"You threw my book into the ocean?" He asked.

She shrugged and he chuckled.

"It made me upset," She said, "It was an impulse decision. And then you texted me to say Happy Christmas. So I threw my phone in the ocean too."

"Crikey," Matthew remarked, "Remind me never to make you mad again."

Mary let out a little giggle. He exhaled.

"I really am sorry," He said, "I didn't realize what it must have been like for you."

"Alright, you win," She said, finally giving him a smile, "We are at peace again."

"Mary, you're doing really amazing things," He said, "A shelter for women in crisis? A design you made yourself? That's phenomenal."

"I think a lot about how that could have been me. That was so close to being me. I got out while I could, before things got worse. But some women don't have that choice. Some end up in situations far far worse. I got really lucky. So this is my attempt to help those who haven't been so lucky," She explained.

"That's amazing," He said, "You're going to make such a difference for them."

"I hope so," She said.

"Will you tell me more about it?" He asked. "Your plans for it?"

"I can show you my designs, if you like," She said.

"Shall we find some place to warm up?" Matthew said, "A cup of cheer for old times sakes."

Mary rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, I guess so," She said.

They found a bar a few block away that was open. It was just as dark and dodgy as the first place they met.

"What'll you have?" The bartender asked her.

"Can you make some sort of green cocktail with red floating in it?" She asked, giving Matthew a smile as they recalled their first meeting.

"Um no mam," He said, "I can make you an appletini."

Mary shrugged, "Not my usual, but that'll do."

They settled in stools beside each other. Matthew reached out his hand to run along her back, but then remembered that he had a fiancé and Mary had a boyfriend, and no they couldn't just fall back into that again.

Mary took out her phone and showed him pictures her plans. The building was bright and friendly. There were nice rooms for each woman. There was a clinic, counseling service, a day care. There was a lush library, swimming pools, a day spa. Mary's plans weren't just practical; they were full of empathy and thoughtfulness.

"Mary," He hushed, "This is really specular."

"Thanks," She beamed, "It was my thesis really. But I was already pulling it together before that, looking for funding, organizing a team to put it into progress. If donations keep up, I can start work on making the London version in the next year."

"Wow," He breathed, "And all I've done is written a sappy novel."

"It was very sappy," Mary remarked.

"Thanks for that," Matthew laughed, "But things are good for you otherwise?"

"I suppose," Mary said, "I graduated from Columbia. I sold my apartments in Paris and LA to jumpstart the non-profit. I see my family a bit more than I used to."

"So things are good," Matthew said, "And you've Evelyn? You're in love?"

"Mmm," Mary sighed, "I'm not really sure it's love. It's definitely not anything very serious. Evelyn's rather boring, but I kind of wanted that- someone boring after all the celebrity boyfriends."

"But you don't love him?" Matthew said.

"That's rather personal, don't you think?" Mary protested.

"So you don't," Matthew assumed.

"I don't."

"Oh."

"But, you're engaged," Mary said, "Clearly you're in love. She's lovely, that girl. What was her name?"

"Lavinia," Matthew supplied.

"She's gorgeous," Mary said, "And very nice."

She was, Matthew thought, She really was.

So why was a bit of him already falling again for Mary? She only had to touch his life for a few minutes to completely shake up his thoughts of what he wanted for himself.

Would he give it all up? Give up the happy life he'd fought hard to find- just to go after Mary?

They made small talk for minutes more. She asked about his cat, if he was writing another novel, if his mum and stepfather were well, and where in London he was living now.

Mary was stunning the low light. He noticed differences that came over the last years. She was less bony, less drawn. She smiled a little brighter, a little more authentically. She had always been beautiful, but it was as if she had come into herself a little more this year in a way she'd never had the freedom to do so before. Her short hair was looked smooth and professional and his fingers itched to run through it.

"I should probably let you get home to Lavinia," Mary said softly, "I expect she'll be wanting to congratulate you for your award."

Yes, right Lavinia.

He reached out for her hand, taking the small thing in his and squeezing it.

"Do know how very happy I am that we made up while we had the chance," He said, softly.

"I am too," Mary admitted.

"I do hope I'll see you again," He said, because it was so hard to leave her. He didn't want it to be, but it was so hard to go back to Lavinia. "Like I said before, It's hard to come down after being with you."

"Even now, even when I'm ordinary?" She asked.

"Mary, you are anything but ordinary," He said.

She looked down. He saw her swallow and wondered if there were unsaid words stuck in her throat.

"Will you read the end of the book?" He asked.

"I don't know," Mary said, "I'm trying to avoid looking back these days."

"Please read it, Mary," He said, "As a favor to an old stranger."

"Okay," She agreed.

Then she was tugging on her coat and heading for the door. They stood in the doorway of the bar staring at each other, knowing that this was where they parted ways.

"Well, Mary, it's been surreal but nice."

"Oh my God, shut up," She said, swatting at him.

Matthew reached to squeeze her hand, place a kiss on her cheek. But Mary instead planted a kiss on his lips. It was just like their first kiss and he felt everything. There was still same emotion, the same trust between them that existed across those four years.

She pulled back, her nose brushing with his, "Happy Christmas Stranger."

"Happy Christmas, Mary," He said, before she let go of him and turned away.

Matthew watched her walk in the opposite direction wondering if this was it. If this was the last he'd see of his Christmas stranger, his light.

He walked slowly back to the hotel where the gala was being held. It was cold but he liked the feeling of the wind against his face. It numbed him. He wanted to be numb just now.

Lavinia was seated on a bench outside the hotel, shivering slightly, swinging her feet.

"There you are my darling," He said, "Why aren't you inside?"

She pursed her lips together and looked up to him with open and vulnerable eyes.

"She's the girl isn't she?" Lavinia asked.

"Who?" He repeated.

"Mary Crawley," she said, "It's her, the girl from your book. She's your stranger. She's your bright Christmas light."

"Lavinia," He said, "You know you are the only light in my life."

"I know you haven't been unfaithful, but I know you still love her," She said, "I could see it in your eyes. You've loved her for a very long time."

"I love you," He said, his voice sincere and balanced.

"If you love me, can you tell me that you won't spend the rest of your days wondering what if? Wondering what if you followed her?"

"Of course not," Matthew gasped, putting a hand on his fiancés shoulder.

_What had gotten into her?_

"I don't believe you," She said, "I'm sorry, but I don't. You wrote a whole book about that woman. You've obviously spent years of your life thinking of her. I'm not going to let you marry the wrong person just because you are being valiant."

"Marry the wrong person?" He repeated, "I can't marry the wrong person. I'm marrying you."

"Are you?" She asked.

Lavinia looked down at her hand then slowly slid off the ring.

"Matthew, I love you," She said, "I really do. But I won't live my life as your second choice. I don't want to live as the woman you settled for because you couldn't have the one you really wanted."

"What are you saying?" He asked, dumbfounded at how swiftly his luck was changing.

She took his hand, palm up, and placed the ring it. She folded his fingers around it in a fist.

"I'm saying I'm letting you go," She reiterated, "I'm giving you the freedom to chase after her. Because I know you really want to."

Matthew let out a sigh. This _was_ what he wanted. Had he not spent the last hour lusting after Mary in a bar? Had he not spent the last five years dream of her?

"Would it be terrible of me to say thank you?" Matthew said, "For knowing me better than I know myself."

"Just follow your heart Matthew," Lavinia said, "I'll be alright."

He placed a kiss on her cheek in lieu of a goodbye and headed back in the direction that Mary had left in.

* * *

Mary was reading, curled up in a chair in her hotel room looking out at the DC streets. It didn't really snow here, not like it did further north. She could see the top of the Washington Monument peaking out from her window perch. Like a little beacon in the distance. Maybe that was all she and Matthew would ever be- distant beacons to each other. Never together, but standing out in the dark to offer a bit of hope.

Evelyn hadn't come back yet, but she didn't really mind. Like she had said earlier, it wasn't really love.

She'd stopped at a CVS on the way back to hotel to pick up Matthew's book. She couldn't believe she was reading it after throwing it in the ocean a year before.

At first she wanted to read all of it, she wanted to know every word Matthew had written about her. But she also wanted to know the end. She wanted to know why Matthew had been so insistent she finish it.

So she skimmed through it, reading as the main couple met up in Paris, then Hong Kong, and then Florence. Adam Crawford and Meredith Carnegie had escapades that echoed their own. There was an overwhelming amount of light imagery. And sap. So much sap.

But there were also thoughtful and delicate lines that caught Mary's eye and melted her heart.

_Adam loved seeing her room- it's little baubles, the collages on the wall, the way her laundry landed in messy piles- it was a different kind of intimacy. He knew she didn't let people in often, or easily, yet he was able to see bit of her just through the space she inhabited._

Or:

_The foreignness of Hong Kong, the muddle of words and characters he didn't understand, buildings that felt unfamiliar, foods and tastes he'd never experienced- all of the newness made Meredith stand out brighter. She was the familiar. She was the comfort, the light, the breath and air. It was like Hong Kong was a beautiful blur of colors scents and sounds, yet she was in sharp focus._

Or:

_Adam felt rage pass through him at the sight of the bruises painted across Meredith's skin. How had anyone thought to treat her with anything less pure adoration? Had whoever done this not recognized Meredith for the beautiful and exceptional creature she was? He wished he had a brush, an eraser, anything to swipe over her body and take her pain away._

Honestly, it was really sappy.

It got to the moment where she saw their fight unfold, her words seeming harsher on paper than when they had come out of her mouth. Had she really said that they were just strangers who met at bar? Yes, probably, actually.

She read as Adam exited the villa, heading back to Florence and for the airport. She read as he called a cab in the cold, tears stinging his eyes. Had Mary really made Matthew do that? Yes, she had.

But then it all changed:

_As Adam stood there, watching the taxi drive through the distant mountains, and he realized this was it. This was his last chance. If he was ever going to win back Meredith, he had to act now. He couldn't walk away from her. He had to tell her how he felt, and now._

_He turned on the spot, rushing back to the house. He rapped on the door._

Suddenly, Mary heard a knock on her door. She dropped the book in a clatter.

It was probably just Evelyn, or maybe Sybil popping up to offer congratulations before going to bed. There was no way it was Matthew. She didn't even know that she wanted it to be Matthew.

No, that was a lie, she wanted it to be Matthew.

She walked tentatively through the door, the words of the book echoing in her head.

"Mary, open up, it's me," A voice called through the door.

His voice. Matthew's voice. It was happening.

She opened the door and he was there. The same golden hair that melted her heart. The same blue eyes that pierced her soul. He still took her breath away.

"I'm sorry to push in," He started, "But I can't walk away again. I can't do it, Mary."

"Matthew, you and I both know we have more baggage than the porters at Kings Cross," She murmured, "You must be joking to think that we are just going to pick up and start dating. You have a fiancé for crying out loud. You can't just do this."

"I don't have a fiancé anymore," He admitted, "She let me go. She said that I'd be miserable if I never had the chance to chase after you."

"And would you?" Mary asked.

"I don't I could be happy with anyone else as long as you walked the earth," He told her.

"That's quite the declaration," Mary said.

"I mean it," Matthew said, taking a step into the room, "My darling, my Mary, you've lived your life, and I've lived mine- isn't it time we lived them together?"

Mary didn't know how to respond to that sweeping of a sentiment. But she could manage a kiss. She closed the space between them and put a kiss on his lips. His soft wide lips yielded to her smaller, firmer ones. They moved together in a dance they'd rehearsed time after time, year after year, Christmas after Christmas.

"Did you finish the book?" He asked between kisses.

"No," She admitted, "You interrupted me. But I can guess how it ends."

* * *

**December 25, 2015**

**Yorkshire**

"When you told me your granny lived in Yorkshire, I thought you meant a cottage, not a fricken McMansion," Matthew remarked as the foreboding building came into view.

"Oh please," She said, "It's just an old pile. An abbey that's been in the family for years."

"Yeah, sure I've got one too in Manchester," Matthew said, rolling his eyes.

"Be quiet, you knew my family had too much money when you started dating me. Besides, I've already met your mum and stepfather and they thought I was lovely," Mary said, "You're just complaining because you're nervous about meeting Granny."

"Well Sybil nearly bit my head off when I met her month, so I can only imagine what the rest of the Crawley's are like," Matthew chuckled.

"She'll like you," Mary said, "I promise."

So Matthew was flung into Mary's glittering world again. Her granny lived in an opulent estate and though he thought it was excessive, he enjoyed walking through each room. Mary showed him the important works of art, the rare and interesting books on the shelves, and pieces of furniture passed down through generations. It was hard to see in her the same girl who had twinkle lights in her apartment and designed modern-looking shelters for impoverished women. But then again, she had once christened magazine covers simply for her looks, but now she did for her humanitarian efforts.

Mary's granny's chef served them an elaborate dinner with multiple courses and wine pairing. Things that even after a few years as a bestselling author still intimidated him.

But he warmed to Mary's granny. The woman was witty and clever, despite her age. Matthew supposed this was where Mary got her spunk.

It was after dinner, after listening to some carols in the salon, after her granny had bid them goodnight- that he swiped a bottle of champagne, two flutes, and tugged Mary outside.

"I know how you are about doing things properly," He said, as they stood outside the old abbey in the snow, "And you know how I am about tropes and clichés."

"Sappy, darling," Mary amended.

"Right, you know how I am about sap," He said, "So I thought we'd do this out here, under the stars. The stars have always made me think of you, you know that?"

"I think that people always get dovey eyed under the stars," Mary told him, "Not just you."

"Nonsense, it's just me," He teased, "I named my book _Bright Christmas Light_ for a reason. You read all the light imagery for a reason. You've always been that for me. Even in my loneliest moments, you gave me hope. I love you. I've love you since we were strangers, but I love you more now as my girlfriend."

Mary looked at him and he saw tears clinging to her eyes.

"And well, I almost named my book _A Cup of Cheer_ instead, because of well, our silly little tradition that started with your colorful cocktail," He said. "I can't offer you that, but I can offer you this lovely glass of champagne."

"So what are we toasting to this time?" She asked, accepting the glass.

He fell onto his knee, giving her a cheeky smile, "Our engagement."

"You really are sappy," Mary chastised.

"I know," Matthew said, "Is that a yes then?"

Mary put down her glass of champagne, flinging herself into his arms, just as snowflakes began to drift down. Matthew lifted her and began to spin her.

Honestly, he couldn't have written the scene better if he tried. All that was left was the tiniest hint of an epilogue to keep them guessing for the future.

* * *

**December 25, 2016**

**New York City**

Their next Christmas was spent on the roof of a newly opened, innovative women's shelter- just a few quiet moments to themselves, despite the party going on in the building below. The writer spread a blanket down on the roof, a place that would become a communal garden for the women once spring began. The architect smiled as she lay on the blanket gazing up at the stars. Her hand fell to her stomach, and the writer placed his hand on top of hers.

"Care for a cup of cheer?" Matthew asked her.

"So long as it's alcohol-free," She replied, feeling a kick against her hand.

"Just hot chocolate, darling," He told her.

"Good, that's perfect," She replied.

"Happy Christmas Mary."

"Happy Christmas Stranger."

**Author's Note:**

> In my headcanon, Lavinia and Evelyn totally end up together with 3 kids and a dog... I just never found a way to work it in :)


End file.
